


From a Certain Point of View

by BardicRaven



Category: Cottingley Fairies Hoax RPF
Genre: Fairies, Fairies Are Real, Gen, Inspired by Photography, Magical Realism, Photography, fairies are not necessarily nice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:22:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21954340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardicRaven/pseuds/BardicRaven
Summary: When Frances started seeing fairies down at the bottom of the garden, her world, and the world around her, changed forever.
Relationships: Elsie Wright & Frances Griffiths
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13
Collections: Yuletide Madness 2019





	From a Certain Point of View

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Deepdarkwaters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deepdarkwaters/gifts).



Later, Frances was to wish that she’d never seen the bright flash at the bottom of the garden. The flash that resolved itself into a pretty sparkling dancing ball, one that almost seemed to welcome her. She said nothing to anyone, but went out to the garden time and again, trying to catch more glimpses of what she’d seen.

Finally, her mother asked her what she was doing out in the garden so often, down by the beck where there was nothing to see or do but get her shoes wet and muddy to track it all over the house when she came in.

Stung, Frances replied, “But there is! I’m going to see the fairies!”

Her mother turned to Elsie. “Is this true? Is your cousin going to see these ‘fairies’?” They could both hear the skepticism in her mother’s voice.

“Yes,” Elsie replied, determined to support her cousin. “Yes, she is.”

Later when they were alone, Elsie pulled her cousin aside. ”You need to show me these so-called fairies.”

“I will.”

And the next time they went out to the garden, she did. She waited until she saw the golden ball then she pulled at her cousin’s arm, gesturing to the ball.

“Do you see it too?” A breathless moment, uncertainty and fear, and then, miraculously, Elsie nodded.

And together, they went into their future.

* * *

It was a lark at first, a way to share what they were seeing in the garden with others. The pretty balls and hazy figures that they called ‘fairies’ after the creatures of story. Elsie traced a picture from one of her favorite books, drew wings on the tracing, cut it out. Created more – different drawings, different poses. All nothing more than paper cutouts suspended on hairpins, yet representing far, far more.

Then people started to notice. Were attracted to the pictures they’d made. The girls never quite had the courage to ask if it was because they were seeing fairies too or whether they simply liked the Dream of them.

When the likes of Arthur Conan Doyle started to come around, believing in what they saw, the girls began to wonder what was the reality and what the make-believe.

Reality began to crumple around them. The Dream stained with tinges of Nightmare.

* * *

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep quiet,” the voice sounded in her head, the ball of sparkling energy dancing angrily in front of her.

“Why?” Frances snapped. “What have you ever done for me?”

“It’s what you’ve done TO us,” the voice replied implacably. “You’ve taken from us. Therefore you must give something of equal value in return.”

“What have I taken from you?” Frances said with equal parts anger and fear. The War was still going on, for all it didn’t touch them as much out in the country. Much had been taken from them already. There was no space, no energy, left to take from others.

“You and your cousin – you’ve taken our pictures. Yes,” the voice said to the protest rising from Frances’ open mouth. “It’s paper to you. But it’s fairies to them.” The ball zipped around as if indicating the world around them. “They know of us now, a reality, and that must be paid for.” The ball came close, growing bigger and somehow menacing.

Frances shrank back, afraid. “Wha-what would you want?” she stammered, fearing what this being might do to her. And her family. Again, they had so little now. What could they afford to lose?

“Passage.” At Frances’ blank look, the ball continued. “Safe passage to your world from ours. The belief and attention from these photographs has created it. The payment is for it to continue.” Larger and more menacing still. “Unhindered.” The ball shrank and drew back as Frances did the same.

“Understand?”

All Frances could do was nod. Keeping her silence, even in the face of what she knew was fraud, was better than telling the truth of what they’d done and facing that ball and all their kin.

* * *

And besides, from a certain point of view it wasn’t fraud. Their paper fancies represented real fairies, just not in the way that they appeared.

Frances reminded herself of that on the long nights, on the days full of meeting with this reporter and that spiritualist.

It helped some, tho’ not enough.

Never enough.

* * *

Eventually, Frances stopped participating in the sessions, whether it was making new photographs or meeting with people about them. She became a recluse, seeing few outside of her family.

Thankfully, the fairies left her alone, probably because Elsie kept doing both. She’d never been threatened by the fairies, so never feared the making of the photographs nor the speaking about them to others. She felt it a pleasant challenge, to make each fairy picture different and yet similar enough to satisfy the people, and then to share them with others, to help them see the beauty of the glowing beings they’d seen.

Frances kept her thoughts to herself, tho’ every time she saw another of the cute fairy pictures, she cringed inside, remembering all too well the way the glow had grown, threatening to engulf her, the menace in the unspoken words inside her head.

She wondered what the passage would look like, what the fairies would do in their world. It seemed at the moment that they were content to be golden balls of light in the garden, but Frances wondered how long that would content them.

Finally, her fear grew large enough that she dared to go into the garden and ask. What she found out was not encouraging. “We don’t know yet, human,” the glowing ball said to her. “But we have the possibility now and that is exciting to us.” It hummed to itself in a way that sounded terribly pleased.

“Exciting how?” she dared to ask again.

“Exciting because we are free to do as we please in this new world.”

“And what of the humans?”

“What of them?” And the casual way the golden ball zipped away was somehow the most frightening thing of all.

* * *

The fairies didn’t do much in her lifetime, tho’ Frances lived her life in fear. The War ended, they went back to their lives. Eventually, interest in the fairies began to fade and then drifted away nearly entirely. But Frances never forgot the sound of the fairy’s voice in her ear, never stopped wondering, fearing, what they would do with their exciting possibilities.

* * *


End file.
